


One More Light

by karasunovolleygays



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [42]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Seventh year at Hogwarts, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: The edge awaits Draco Malfoy, that one last step into oblivion, but Michael Corner finds that he doesn't want Draco to take that final leap.
Relationships: Michael Corner/Draco Malfoy
Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [42]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589239
Kudos: 15





	One More Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my 2020 Valentine's Kisses: 44. Tentative kisses given in the dark.
> 
> I know nobody else on earth ships this but me, but pls love them.

The halls of Hogwarts are dark and empty, with only a couple of prefects patrolling the halls to send stragglers back to their dormitories. Not to get them in trouble — nobody actually reported anything, not even most of the Slytherin prefects — but to keep the powers that be in the school from finding out. Especially the Carrows.

After a couple of weeks of this new regime, instances of skulkers-about have dropped to almost nil. Michael doesn’t expect to find anyone on his obligatory trek through the North Tower, so when he spots a white-blond head of hair, he skids to a halt.

He would know that color anywhere. “Malfoy, what are you doing up here?” Michael asks, standing beside Draco at the parapets. “Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling the Transfiguration Wing?”

“What’s it to you?” Draco snaps. “You can obviously see nobody is out who isn’t allowed to be, so bugger off.”

Michael nearly does just that, but his eyes catch the sight of Draco’s hands clenching and unclenching against the stone. From years of observation, he knows what the mute gesture is saying.

Draco is afraid but would never admit it.

“Listen, if you don’t want to patrol, then don’t. Just go to bed.” Michael casts a wary glance at the sky beyond Hogwarts in the direction of Hogsmeade. It’s just the usual mass of clouds this evening, but the night before, a Dark Mark had scarred the sky. If any of the teachers know who the victim is, they aren’t talking.

Shaking his head, Draco shivers as if the very same thought had crossed his mind. “I don’t want to.” His voice hardly more than a whisper, Draco wilts against the castle wall and buries his face in his arm. 

Michael is all too familiar with that feeling, as well. They all share it, the ones who know what is really going on outside the castle grounds. The younger ones are spared the more gruesome details, but the Carrows delight in describing the conditions Muggle-borns are submitted to upon capture — if they even survive that long.

He rests a hand on Draco’s shoulder, unsurprised when Draco flinches away. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Suit yourself.” Michael withdraws his grip and leans against the parapet, this time directing his attention to the grounds below. At least some things never change; the Hogwarts landscape and Draco Malfoy’s superiority complex are immutable. 

Michael starts when Draco steps up onto one of the slots in the stone and gazes down at the cobblestones below. “Do you ever think about it?” he asks.

“What, jump?” Michael’s breath hitches on the last word. “Can’t say I have, no matter how bad things get. I wouldn’t give the world the satisfaction of defeating me.”

Draco sighs. “But what if everything you knew is so damned bollocksed up that nothing is familiar anymore, let alone comfortable? What then?”

“I have no idea,” Michael admits. “I’d like to think being here is bad right now, but I know it’s so much worse out there. I haven’t been pushed to the point where my only option is to throw myself off a tower and give up.”

Fists clenching at his sides once again, Draco says, “Do you know what he smells like? The Dark Lord.” When Michael doesn’t answer, Draco answers, “Like something’s gone off and died, but worse. He smells much like I’d expect a Dementor does.”

The words make Michael shudder. Most of the seventh years in the school are aware that You-Know-Who has set up headquarters at Malfoy Manor, and they’re happy to have the veritable devil on the other side of the country.

Then again, he has never been under You-Know-Who’s scrutiny. Aside from Snape and the Carrows, Michael is fairly certain no Death Eaters even know who he is, a half-blood nobody from Kent. 

Before Michael can respond, Draco hops backward off the rocky ledge and lands next to Michael. “Oh, well. Maybe tomorrow night.” With that, he spins on his heel and sweeps away like he hadn’t been one dark thought away from ending it all.

Michael doesn’t bother patrolling for the rest of his allotted time. Instead, he stays up at the top of the North Tower and stares at the ground below trying not to imagine Draco’s splattered remains strewn on the pavement below.

The next night, Michael is supposed to be trawling through the Astronomy tower, but he drifts over to the North Tower instead when he’s sure none of his fellow prefects will spot him.

Draco is right where he had been the previous evening, gazing out into the distance at nothing in particular, likely with thoughts of death’s release swirling around in his brain. Michael doesn’t know what to say to Draco, so he does what he had done the night before: listen.

Not bothering with a greeting or a command to leave, Draco launches straight into it. “Have you ever seen someone fall off these things?” Michael doesn’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ because he’s sure Draco is well aware that he hasn’t. “Everything is silent until you hear them hit the bottom. Then comes the screaming.”

“Screaming?” Michael assumes this hypothetical instance is a reference to Dumbledore’s death at the end of their sixth year. He has heard a few accounts of it, but none of them had included screaming.

Draco huffs. “Not the one who feel, stupid. He’s dead. No, the screaming is in your head. You can’t hear anything because everything is so, so loud.”

“I see,” Michael lies, but the words don’t  _ not _ make sense. There are all sorts of things that, when they happen, the rest of the world blurs out and there is only the thing. He can’t say he’s heard it characterized as screaming, but he also hasn’t watched someone plummet to their death before.

“No you don’t.” Draco props a foot on the wall, but instead of standing on it, he leans against his extended leg. “If I tried to jump, would you stop me?”

Michael opens his mouth to say ‘yes’, but he pauses. Instead, he answers, “Would you want me to?”

“I don’t know.” Pushing away from the wall again, Draco lets out a quaking breath. “I suppose as long as it’s there if it’s necessary, there’s no point in doing it now.”

Once again, he walks off, leaving Michael in a haze of confusion and panic.

It’s a ritual for them now. Michael will follow Draco to the top of the tower. Sometimes, Draco will talk. Michael never does; he hasn’t anything to compare to Draco’s private hell on earth. He’s been on the business end of a few of the Carrows’ nasty spells and hexes, of course, but he’s never been forced to choose between using them personally on somebody else to avoid being the recipient.

Sometimes, Draco will stand on the ledge, and other times he doesn’t even bother. Regardless, Michael stays there until Draco leaves the tower. He still can’t answer Draco’s question, whether he’d try to stop him from jumping. However, the longer he listens to Draco’s heart bleed on the stones below their feet, he’s starting to think the question is unanswerable.

The first night after returning from the Easter holidays, Michael’s skin tingles as soon as he walks through the castle gates. Perhaps it’s because he had spent two weeks away from this hellhole. Perhaps it’s a natural reaction to the added presence of Dementors patrolling the school’s perimeter. 

Perhaps it’s the sight of Draco looking worse than ever.

Michael minds his business until he’s able to slip away after curfew. If Draco has ever needed to vent, it would be right then. 

He’s a hallway away from the stairs to their usual tower when a hauntingly familiar voice stops him in his tracks. “Where do you think you’re going?” Alecto Carrow snaps, slipping from the shadows, her lip curled in a sneer that makes Michael’s blood run cold every time, even more so because it’s directed at him.

“Patrol,” he half-lies. While it’s true he is supposed to be patrolling, both of them are very aware his designated area for the night is the dungeons.

Alecto slaps his cheek with her wand. “Don’t lie to me, you little vermin. You and your lot are plotting something again, aren’t you?” She grabs his chin and drags his face down to her level. “Well I’m going to stop you.”

When the curse hits him, Michael understands what Draco had meant all those weeks ago. It’s dead silent for a moment, and then the screaming starts. It’s his own scream: voice, nerves, soul, everything.

And then it stops.

Michael’s blurry eyes watch Alecto’s wand fly away from her and clatter down a nearby flight of stairs. She runs off chasing it when it won’t come back at her command, cursing up a storm as she does. 

A firm grip peels him off the floor and drags him into a darkened alcove. Though he doesn’t know who else it could possibly be, Michael is still surprised to see that his mysterious benefactor is Draco.

“You need to get out of here. Now!” Draco looks out the hallway, and Alecto still hasn’t returned. With a good lick in already, perhaps she has moved on, considering Michael effectively deterred. It’s unlikely, but both of them could use a small mercy.

Draco pushes on a statue, and one of the ‘stone’ walls swings open to a murky stairwell wending its way into the bowels of the castle. “Come on.”

Without another option, Michael follows. He flinches when the passageway closes behind them, but the lights from the tips of their wands are just enough to illuminate the way to the bottom of the seemingly endless flight of steps.

At the bottom, Draco touches three spots on the door with his wand, and it creaks open. One glance at their surroundings tells Michael they’re in the dungeons — ironically, where he is supposed to be.

“I go this way to go to the tower,” Draco says when they duck into a nearby bathroom. His back slides down the wall until he drops into a weary heap. “You have to stop.”

Michael doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what Draco is referring to. He just has no intentions of following that command. “No.”

Hollow eyes gaze up at him. “Why? Merlin knows we’re not friends, and I can’t think of a single person in this damned place who would miss me if I finally went through with it.”

“I would!” Michael kneels next to Draco and slaps him across the face. “With everything that’s happened to you, the only thing you’ve been guilty of is being an arsehole and a braggart. You deserve to have your arse kicked for that, but you don’t deserve to die!”

Draco gawks at him, a trembling hand touching where Michael had slapped him. 

The toll on Michael’s body from the curse catches up with him, and he gingerly lowers himself to the floor to sit beside Draco. What he truly wants is to go to bed and sleep it off, but he isn’t sure he could get up if he tried.

His eyelids drift down, heavy with exhaustion, and the last thing he remembers before falling asleep is an arm wrapping around his shoulder and drawing him near.

Madame Pomfrey excuses Michael from all school related obligations for the next two days. He would be annoyed about being behind in his coursework, save for the fact that he doesn’t want his classmates looking at him and  _ knowing _ what happened. The lot of them have been brutally disciplined by the Carrows before, but how does he explain that it only happened because of his affiliation with Draco, the one student reviled by his fellow Ravenclaws almost as much as their so-called ‘professors’. 

So he stays in bed all day, with a house elf bringing him his meals there. There are a few ongoing assignments he can work on while he’s laid up, but Michael finds he can’t concentrate on any of them. His thoughts drift up to the top of the North Tower, to whether Draco would stand up on the parapet and finally take that last step.

Despite his muscles’ vehement complaints, Michael skulks out of Ravenclaw Tower and takes every ill-used hallway and staircase he can until he’s on his way up to the crown of the North Tower again.

Draco is there, but he isn’t standing on the wall this time. He’s huddled against the stone, face buried in his knees and his shoulders shaking. When Draco hears Michael approach, he doesn’t even attempt to hide the way his entire body is shriveled with misery.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Draco rasps, but Michael hobbles over and sits next to him anyway. “She could have killed you.”

“Probably.” Michael groans as he stretches out his abused muscles. “She wouldn’t have, though. I can only imagine how much paperwork crops up when a student gets offed by a teacher.”

A wry snort slips out of Draco, but his contorted face slowly eases back into its usual state, albeit still very red. “Michael, why do you follow me here?”

With an ill-advised shrug, Michael admits, “I guess I still don’t know. It just feels like what I should be doing.”

“Oh, come off it!” Draco wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes. “You’re not like those brainless Gryffindor. You know what’s at stake, and you know a hopeless cause when you see one.”

Michael looks over at Draco, who looks like he’s about to vomit, and their eyes meet in the dark. “Do you think you’re hopeless?”

“I don’t know.” Draco closes his eyes and shivers. “I don’t know.”

Reaching up to cup Draco’s jawline, Michael chortles. “If you were, you wouldn’t be agonizing over it so much.”

Draco tilts his head to press his lips against Michael’s palm, and both of them lean in to meet each other halfway.

It isn’t Michael’s first kiss, and Merlin knows it isn’t Draco’s, but it’s nothing like kissing Ginny Weasley. Not only because Draco is a boy, but their relationships couldn’t have been more different.

Both of them panting harshly, their foreheads rest together. Michael’s eyes are closed so he can concentrate on what the hell had just happened with every available scrap of sense he possesses. 

He kissed Draco Malfoy. He kissed Draco Malfoy and he liked it. He kissed Draco Malfoy and he wanted to do it again.

Michael can’t say any of that, saddling Draco with his feelings when Draco’s own are so much to bear already. So he doesn’t. He slots his fingers with Draco’s, and they sit quietly well into the night.

It’s long past the end of the regular prefect patrols when Draco sits up. “I don’t want to come up here anymore.”

“Oh?” Michael straightens and is immediately punished by his aching body. “Care to explain?”

Draco shrugs. “There are things to be done. It won’t be like this forever.”

Michael raises a brow and pushes up onto wobbling feet. “What’s so different now than the last time?”

“Something is coming.” Draco stands as well, but he faces away from the air abyss past the castle walls. “I can’t explain, but something is coming. I just know.” He helps Michael to his feet. “Last night, I was actually going to do it. I was standing up here and everything. I even have a letter tucked under my pillow for my parents.”

Taking a deep breath, Draco adds, “When I heard the screaming, I knew it was you. I couldn’t leave you alone.”

Blinking in shock, Michael’s lips slowly curve into a crooked smile, and he snares a kiss from Draco’s surprised mouth. “You understand my point of view now, and I understand yours. That’s what I wanted in the beginning, but now —”

“We’re from different worlds,” Draco murmurs. “Nothing can come of this other than one of us getting tortured or killed if someone finds out about it.”

“I know.” Michael knows their late night meet-ups are over now, but he wants to absorb this last one as much as he can. “Feet on the ground, Malfoy. It’s the strongest way to stand.” 

Draco stares after him as he lurches away, and Michael doesn’t look back. When he drops into his bed, a mercy upon his abused body, he thinks he might be able to sleep the next day away, after all. Not because he wants to miss his classes now, but because he knows that little piece of his heart Draco had managed to confiscate will still be there when he wakes up.


End file.
